what makes a day

Yesterday after a morning of paperwork and finances with Kat, I headed to Quacks to meet Kat and do some more work. Just as I was getting out of my car, I was accosted by a homeless man who told me his story. He was just out of the hospital, only a month to live, do I have any spare change? Now, I know spare change won't buy him any time if he really has just a month to live. It will almost buy him a beer and it's a start towards a $5 bag of crack. Not only did I not have any change, I decided long ago that I don't want to give out change. There's something about giving someone a dime that just feels ugly to me. I told the guy I had a blanket in the car, and if he went to Trinity I'd see that he got his prescriptions paid for, etc. He turned on me and told me I know nothing about life and death and what it's like to be in the hospital. To him, I'm just some lady with a car and a laptop about to buy a nice cup of tea. He scolded me as I walked in, mumbled at me about how I had no idea what it was like to be dying. I told him he was right, "I don't know a damn thing about death." (Kat said I should have showed him my scars, but that would have required taking off my shirt and I didn't see the point in that. ) I felt guilty and defiant at the same time. He was unpleasant, but I'm sure he felt like crap and hated me just for being who he thought I was.

This morning, on the ritual Saturday run around Town Lake, I saw my friend Homer. Homer who is a regular at the shelter. Homer who gives me a hard time while he's making jokes with me. Homer who teased me about gaining a little weight over the holidays and then the next week told me I needed to eat more. Homer who rides his bike around town and meditates when things get too much for him. Homer who always tells me he's never seen me running around the lake even though he's there every Saturday morning cause he lives there. This morning, around mile 9, I saw Homer walking toward the path from the woods. I yelled out to him and waved and he looked up and gave me the biggest grin "Hey, Stacy, It's you!, Go Stacy!" In that little moment, there was a shift and my day was made. Seems too simple.

correction

The final tally came in and we counted 1,970 homeless Austinites. It's a record.

Yesterday, at Trinity, I was reminded again that being around people who love you and doing something simple and quiet can turn things around. K., S., and I worked on a 500 piece puzzle, we didn't care about the puzzle, we just wanted to sit and put the pieces together. K. told stories, S., silent as always, just nodded occasionally and smiled. I listened, and as the puzzle came together, I started to make a little sense of what's going on in my life right now. K told me Trinity is his "island of sanity". I don't think he realizes that it's the same for me.

I'm also really enjoying the class at UTFI. I presented today. As I went over my background, I remembered all that I went through to make my first film. Most of it was internal, confidence, giving myself as much time and heart as I had to other filmmakers, and taking the leap of faith in myself. The students are great, they have amazing ideas and enthusiasm, I look forward to seeing what they come up with!

counting

Last week volunteers turned out all over Austin to count homeless people. We looked everywhere, in cars, parks, creeks, down little paths behind grocery stores, and even in ritzy neighborhoods. It's invasive, certainly, but without counting as many people as we can, funding is cut.

All in all, we counted 1700 homeless people. We didn't get them all, the homeless are good at hiding, most don't want to be found, they could be anywhere, in your neighborhood even. I saw some on my run Saturday morning, sleeping by the lake in puffy sleeping bags, peaceful as could be. I see them on my run through my neighborhood, too.

There was some concern among my friends that counting the homeless is dangerous work. I guess that is the fear of the unknown, the devil you don't know. It isn't dangerous. I know quite a few homeless people and I'm not threatening, and I'm not afraid. Traffic, shopping malls, litterbugs, and people with big egos scare me, not homeless people.

We came bearing socks, thick, white tube socks. When we were someplace we knew someone was sleeping, an alley, a church patio, a hidden area behind a store, we left socks they could find later, a little surprise.

I ran into some old friends who promised to come and see me on Wednesday, but I didn't find that one friend that I keep looking for. I haven't seen J.P. since last Christmas Eve. He disappeared, no one has seen him in months. Before he was homeless J.P. was a photographer. When we became friends, I'd bring my camera and after my shift we'd go out and take pictures together. He could read the light, no meter necessary. "Try a F8 at 11." "This looks like an F16 to me."

I still miss him.

Superheroes amongst us

Today at the shelter, I asked R. if this will be a good year. R. is into numbers. License plates, dates, birthdays, they all have some meaning for him, usually, the numbers aren't so good.

R. is quiet. He doesn't say much to me, but I always say Hi and ask how he's doing. Sometimes he just looks at me, sometimes he says, "Hi" back, and sometimes he just walks on by. Still, after 3 years, a person can take some small comfort in a familiar face and voice, at least I do. I like to think that even when R. is having a bad day, he comes in on my shift because he can at least ignore someone he knows and sometimes I'll make him take a lunch or a brownie or an orange with him when he leaves. (The stories we tell ourselves...)

Lately, R. has been very quiet, more walking on by, less "Hi".
Still, I had to ask him about the new year numbers. I asked him if 2007 was a good number. R. looked at me for a long moment, then said he was going to buy a boat and head to Alaska. I told him that I'd heard Alaska was pristine, beautiful.
"Oh yes, it's beautiful," he said,
I told him it was good to go before all the ice melts, too. (R. is often concerned about the destruction of the planet, conspiracy theories and all that.)
He just said, "I know. I'm going to take the boat down the Bering Sea." Then, he smiled. A rare, smile. A big smile that lit up his whole face. The hard edges fell away as he thought about that boat and about Alaska and the pristine beautiful places he would see. 2007 might be a great year to buy that boat.

Rain poured as we closed up, so we brought out the roll of white plastic garbage bags to make ponchos for everyone and help them rainproof the worldly possessions they keep tucked into paper and canvas bags.

One of my friends, W., tucked his plastic bag under his bike helmet, letting the length of it fall across his back like a cape.
"You look like SuperMan!"
He laughed, and asked me to draw a big S on the back of the bag. I grabbed a red sharpie and did just that. He modeled it and we took his picture.

I took a moment to envision a world where the homeless are superheroes and captains of boats that sail the Bering Sea.

on not making it all okay

I wasn't home last night. I was sleeping in a big room with about 6 other women. It was a freeze night and the emergency shelters were open and I put my name on the list of people to call if needed.

I am passionate about this: Everyone, every soul on the planet should have a safe, comfortable place to sleep at night. I also think society should figure out a way for every law abiding person (and I count among that group anyone who has already done any time if they had time to do) should have a room of their own, a nice quilt, a good dog (or cat) and healthy food.

Still, when I left the house to go for my shift, after bringing in the cats, and getting the dogs situated, I felt a deep, restless sadness. I wasn't sure if I should go at all, actually.

I'm not new to working with the homeless. I've been volunteering at a local day shelter for about 4 years. I love my friends there. I tell people it's because they are honest, and they don't bullshit, at least not about the big things. My homeless friends have no time for pretense. They've already lost so much, pretending it's all gonna be okay would be stupid. It might not be okay; it might never be as okay as it was, or as it could be. A person can't always be working on finding the better job, the cheaper place to live, or trying to mend relationships so they can go back home. We don't pretend it's simple, because it's isn't simple. We talk about possibilities and we talk about resources and sometimes we just play checkers and make stupid jokes. They remind me of something that is taking me years to learn and which I still have to work on: You can’t fix what isn’t yours to fix, no matter how bad you want to.

Back to last night, this particular emergency shelter is only open to homeless women and I can't help but feel sad and a bit hopeless when I talk to the women. Many of them have stories of abuse, of being tossed out and landing hard. Many have lost their children, which is something you probably never get over. Of course we're all culpable for our actions and our choices, but the truth is, a bad choice will come at very high cost for the ladies. Some of those choices will leave a person with, as John Steinbeck put it "a God sized hole in your heart."

We had a small group and when I arrived for my overnight shift, the few who were there were asleep. The volunteers slept in shifts so someone would always be awake to let anyone else in who need a warm place for the night. I didn't have to be on duty until around 4 a.m, so I crawled in my sleeping bag at 10 and read myself to sleep with a flashlight.

When I woke up for my shift, the sun was just barely coming up. I looked through the fogged up windows at the cold, empty downtown streets. No one should be out on a cold night like last night. I started the coffee a little after 5 and everyone else slowly began waking up.

We chatted through breakfast. We talked about our kids, about our loves and our pets. They told us they were sorry there weren't more of them in the shelter, it seemed like so much trouble for us to open up the place and make dinner and disrupt our own lives for such a small group. We told them, if there were just one of you, it would be worth it. This is where we want to be.

It was a nice morning.

I can't say the feeling of sadness left me as I went home. If anything, I was more aware of my tendency to want to make everything better. This wasn’t the morning for that, though. Maybe the trick is to be content with what you can do, with the small gestures. Sometimes you have to leave it at that. You really just do.

Every time

Every time I think the world is just too much, something happens to prove that some kind of crazy hope links all of us.

Like today, at Trinity, I saw some friends and we had birthday cake for October birthdays. We called it Rocktober just to be stupid.

Someone who always seems so together asked that we all pray for him. This surprised me, I think I always seem together too, but the truth is that none of are "so together" and we all need the prayers...

Little J. wasn't there and I was determined to give him the bag I'd found for him. We all worry about him and K. stepped up, said Little J. lives in his "neighborhood", you know the woods of Central Austin. He offered to take it to him, he worries about him, too.

Then today, in the midst of feeling like a complete heel doing stuff that just seems to be lingering, and needing done, and in the process, yet not meaning to, coming off cold and distant, just keeping the upper lip stiff and all that...I got a phone call...

My daughter told me that she and the other 5 kids in the Young Democrats at Belmont are going to volunteer on the phone bank for the Democratic candidate for Governor of Tennessee. When that kid was a baby I strapped her into a little baby pack and we walked the blocks for Ann Richards and even, sigh, Dukakis.


Oh, Patron Saint of Lost Causes, God Bless you for giving us hope when things just seem futile and blocked.

Keep the hope, friends.

Wednesday

After being told I didn't need to come in to Trinity Center on the Wednesday smack in the middle of a week of unexpected deaths, I knew that's exactly where I needed to be, with my friends. It just took me awhile to get there.

Everyone called me and emailed me this morning. Some mornings are just like this. There was an interview with the Vanderbilt "Hustler", lots of phone calls re: screenings. I also had writing to do and coffee to make lots of nervous energy, which meant I also had to run a few miles to relax and breathe. If I don't run these days, I feel uncentered and unfocused and my mind wanders and I cry, a lot. So, after answering a few emails and phone calls, I ran my 4 miles and as soon as I got home, and was doing my stretching sequence, my little neighbor Ian pokes his head over the fence and starts talking.
"Hi Stacy"
"Hi Ian"
Then he tells me about the school he goes to,which is totally a made up school because he's only 4 and stays home all day. His Mom jokes with him, "are you making stuff up again?" He looked embarrassed.
I told him, "I make stuff up all the time, it's really fun, isn't it?"
He asked, "What do you make up?"
I said, "stories and adventures and often I romanticize my life, do you ever do that? You know, make things seem better than they really are?"
He says, "yeah, sometimes, I do."
I told him to keep up the good work, then dashed inside to get ready to go.

At Trinity, things were crazy. I was immediately greeted with a loud table of guys yelling at me for being late, again. I sat down with them and they commented that I'm looking kind of thin. Am I eating enough? Am I running too much? What's going on? They gave me lots of hugs and good wishes.

Then Little J. shows up and wants to show me his new National Geographic magazines. I noticed T-Bone wandering around in pants that are at least a foot too short. He just smiled and told me that highwater pants were perfectly in fashion for rainstorms. Pretty much everyone at Trinity looked a bit damp today, as most of them sleep outside.

I've been clearing out the house lately, boxing up books and CDs and things I don't want in my house anymore, for reasons having to do with disappointing promises, and I brought a big stack of books and handed them all to K, who is an avid reader and who loves to discuss what he reads. I also brought a bag of safety razors, and put L. in charge of passing them out.

As the day went on, 2:00 came and went and people were still in the center finishing up their business. Little J was carefully repacking his large canvas bag, a bag so worn and threadbare that it is barely holding together. He has lots of stuff, little packets that me makes and puts into plastic grocery bags and carefully stuffs into his large bag. This took him about an hour. I made a note to find him a new bag as soon as possible.

Little J and T-Bone walked me to my car, T-Bone wanted to look through the two bags of ladies clothes in my trunk to see if there were some jeans that might fit him. Little J just wanted to chat.
TBone found some jeans and Little J. picked out a brown sweater dress I used to wear to work when I worked in an office years ago. He put it on over his sweater and rolled it up at the bottom. He looked pretty dapper in it,like he was an Austrian hiker or something. He picked up his worn canvas bag and headed off down the street while TBone tried, unsuccessfully, to talk me into a ride to North Austin.

I didn't get home until almost 5, as I ran into Zebra as I left Whole Foods and her hip was out and she needed a ride to her camp. On the way there we caught up on things and she gave me her special Monkey God necklace which is supposed to protect me. Zebra is a homeless artist who specializes in monkeys. She'll be in the Art From the Streets Exhibit in November and recently let me interview her and her boyfriend, also a fine artist,at their camp.

When I did get home, it was time to pick up Ace from the airport, then head to Zen for dinner and to catch her up with Kat and Tracy. When we got home, after the dogs gushed over her being home, we watched Project Runway, and got caught up on our latest crushes.

I fell into bed after 1:00 a.m. I had much to do to get ready for Thursday and the funeral.

today

So, today at Trinity, I saw some folks I haven't seen in ages. That's how it is working with the homeless. People come and go. Today, some sad news.

Stacy Lynn Sparks, a brilliant artist was murdered in a motel over the weekend. Some kind of drug related thing. Damn it. Stacy was a presence, tall and beautiful, full of spice, said what she thought. I remember one of my favorite paintings from last years Arts from the Streets was one of hers. A single lily in a sea of blue and purple.

Someone had donated a couple of 6 foot long sub sandwiches to the center. As we sat down to eat together, one of the resident poets, L.B., said a prayer for her. He said he hoped her struggles were over and she was feeling love and acceptance like never before. There were tears. There a moment of silence.

We all know something like this can happen at any time. Last year 98 homeless people died in Austin.

It's hard to believe Stacy Lynn Sparks won't wander in the door in a few weeks or months telling me all about what's she's been doing and painting and all about her next big idea.

file under: friends

i'm home and the dogs are crazy.

I'm home.

The dogs are nuts. It's been kinda funny. They come in my office and do a loop under the desk just to make sure I'm still here and they've been sneaking in my room at night and laying down really quiet and well behaved so they can stay and sleep by my bed, which is for them is the coolest place in the whole wild world.

I miss Molly. I'll walk past her spot on the kitchen floor and notice her absence. I'll get a little sad and within moments, Cowgirl will be by my side. She leans against me, looks up at me with what seems like true empathy and pats my face with her scruffy little claws. There is something about how much she wants everything to be okay that seems to actually make everything okay.

I got a sweet voice mail from a friend telling me he knows how hard it is to lose a dog friend and sending me his best. The message really hit home and reminded me that when you have to do something hard, it's too easy to forget that while you're being brave and strong, you also have to find time to be sad. Lucky me, I have Cowgirl.

I also got a call from my friend Kenny up in the North Woods. When he leaves messages he always yells "Stacy, Where are you? Where are you? Come and talk to me!" Then he tells me that they had a freeze up there, a hard freeze and it was cold, let me tell you and he and Pupper might just start making their way down to Texas again.

I don't know how Kenny and I became friends. We would just start talking when he came into the shelter. We both love our dogs, but, there are just some people you feel at home with. Kenny is one of them.

Everytime I get a message from him I feel like the world is a fine place indeed.

file under dogs friends

community

I drove to Town Lake late last night for a run, not late late, but later than usual and traffic on Lamar was terrible and yet I wanted to go but as the time drew on and the cars grew thick, I started thinking about things like who are all these poeple anyway and how could I live here so long and be surrounded by all these cars and all these people and probably not know a one of them and then I looked up and saw a friend of mine from Trinity.

He's one of those guys who always comes in and says, "Hey Stacy, got a joke for ya." Followed by some crazy stupid joke about snails and whales and "watch out she's gonna blow." A funny joke that won't change the world but is still funny and a little bit weird, cause he makes them up. He also loves to share political commentary and tell me stories.

Well, in the midst of the traffic and the craziness, there he was on the corner where I'd just gotten stalled crossing an intersection, even though the light was green, the line of cars wasn't moving. So, I got to roll my window down and he saw me and his face lit up and my face lit up and everything seemed just fine again.

As I watched him cross the street, still smiling and waving at me, I felt at home again in my city.

This morning, I heard from Kenny, a friend from Trinity who calls from the North Woods every now and then to say hey. He has a dog up there, "pupper" who he is absolutely devoted to. Pupper had seen a bear cub and pupper was helping him bring in wood and pupper was doing just great and maybe he'd come back in Austin in a few weeks with pupper, too. Kenny is 60-something and he was the first one to show up for our screening of jumping off bridges at the Paramount. He is full of ideas and kind words and hearing his voice this morning, knowing he just wanted to call and say hi, well, it pretty much made my morning.

It's good to have friends. They always seem to call when I need them, when I haven't heard from them in ages and when I'm too much in my own struggle to pick up the phone and call them.

Today I also heard from Cowboy who reminded me of his upcoming nuptials and went on and an on about how happy he is to be getting married. I'm scheduled to be the photographer and I'm looking forward to it. I also heard from my old college buddy Christa in Florida. She's calling everyone in our college "family" (that's what we called ourselves "the family" ) and arranging a reunion. She needed to talk about our friend who was wild and crazy in her college days who is now a Republican and has a "thing" for Cheney.

People change, but friends, well, they are the best thing in the world.

smiley face stickers and more than enough...

So, today at Trinity, I got stickered by a 4 year old who, with her mom, was seeking help in figuring out how to find Section 8 housing with a voucher, on the bus line, near a good school. It can be done, but you have to have a phone, and a bus pass and you have to do a little smooth talking. Those things will at least get you an appointment. Oh, you also need internet access so you can check the current should.availability of housing right this very minute, which is how we found a possible place in a good area, near a good school, with a landlord who was willing to work with her on the security deposit. That combination is rare and miraculous and as it was all happening, even as I was getting stickered by the little four year old and talking to the landlord, I could hardly believe it. After that phone call I had one smiley face sticker on my head, at or near the "third eye" area, and one on my right hand. I felt pretty cool.

Later, when W. told me a story about...well can't tell you that, he told me it was confidential, but let's just say it was a great story involving drama, buses and radio and prayer. I love it when W. tells stories because he talks haltingly, speech is hard for him. As an actor and mime, a skill learned of necessity, he's brilliant.

J. was there, haven't seen him in weeks. It was a nice moment when the four year old came over to where I was talking with J. and spontaneously hugged him. J. inspires that in people, at least in me and in this 4 year old. He just does. He's sweet and earnest and honest and he needs people to be nice to him, but they aren't so much. Every time I see him, every single time, before I can even say hi, he asks how I'm doing, how's my life, what have I been up to? He carries everything he owns in a canvas tote, he sleeps on the street and goes hungry a lot because people give him a hard time and yet, he always greets me with, "How are you doing?".

A young boy came in, 19 years old, who told me he needs surgery and special foods. He can only eat organic foods and whole grains, things you don't usually find at the shelters, sometimes they have it, but it's rare. He has other issues, too, but as I was talking to him, I quickly realized they were issues that we couldn't fix, not today, not with our limitations. We would need a Dr., some bloodtests, free medication, etc. The boy told me he'd try to go to the free clinic tomorrow, but he wouldn't promise me he would go. My friend Tbone helped by mentioning that the new Dr. at the free clinic was a beautiful Irish redhead who is super nice (which explains why TBone has been getting to the Dr. more often...)
I really wanted the boy to make a promise, but he wouldn't do it. He would only say he'd try to go and was leaning that way and he appreciated my effort to get a promise.

We had cake today, thanks to Whole Foods which provided a $100 gift card for cakes. Each month we'll celebrate birthdays, starting today. Cakes are important. Community is important. Ritual is important too, even silly ones like birthday cake, how else are you going to celebrate your own birthday, your Dad's birthday, the birthday of someone you haven't seen in years, like a kid you had to leave behind or a brother you haven't seen in years. That's why cake is sometimes as important and necessary as soup and bread.

Still, I was wishing we had a little soup and bread, too. At the end of the day, a few people just seemed hungry. A lot of times people come to Trinity who don't like the noise and crowd of other shelters, they are the quieter souls. We only had three sack lunches, not enough, not nearly. I found a sack of food in the pantry and asked our Center Administrator (CA) about it. He suggested we give out some of, it, someone must have donated it.. So we did. I found canned peaches and tuna and crackers for J. An organic granola bar for the boy and for my friend E., a microwaveable beef and potatoes dinner. They were very happy to get the food.

It was then that another volunteer, one who is just leaving homelessnes behind, who is on a very limited income, who has an empty pocket book and a very large heart, smiled and said, to us. "You know, that's my food..". No, we didn't know, and we were chagrined. Of course you're suppose to put your name on stuff, especially on food in the pantry, still, we all get busy and often it doesn't happen. He just said, "They need it, they need it more than I do."

Now, this was probably true, but, I told him, in my well thought out longtime volunteer babble, "we have to take care of ourselves, too, we have to have boundaries." He just grinned at me, (I'm kind of famous there for not doing so well with the boundaries, I go with my gut and I don't always err on the side of the rules and 98% of the time, it's perfectly fine anyway.)
Then I said, something like, let me pay you for what we took, which as soon as I said it sounded stupid and self-serving and he said, no deal. So, I just shrugged my shoulders and went to wash down tables.

A nice lesson in generosity, and in not assuming a sack full of food is extra food and in a very localized version of the trickle down theory, and in gratitude that most of the time, most of us have more than enough to share. Today I got to see again how little things like canned peaches and tuna and microwaveable dinners and smiley face stickers and granola bars can be exactly what someone needs.

A special thank you to Whole Foods and to the man who shared his sack of food.


Here's a link to an article I wish I'd written. I love the ending and I hope you do, too. How indeed do we get our sanity back?

running, dogs, wednesdays

These days my mind is pretty busy.

There's a film in post production, one in development, there's a documentary in sort of production, and another in my head, along with a script or two and a couple of stories. There's the usual bills and house stuff along with our theatrical release of jumping off bridges (which is coming right along as you can see here). And, on top of that, there's the fact that my daughter is really truly leaving for college and there is much to do on that end, including cleaning the house in prep for a little going away bash, in addition, I'm processing a 'breakup' from that boy I was seeing for about 3 years. Don't get me wrong, there is much good going on in my life right now. It's not all craziness and transitions, but there are many details to track and things to be accountable for and it leaves me just wishing I knew someone who could make me one of those amazing Italian Stallion Martinis I learned to love in Seattle (just a hint of hazelnut liquor, not sweet, dry, but damn fine.)

Well, I don't have access to Italian Stallion Martinis now, so what to do in a time of such transition?

Three things:
Run
Walk the dogs
Hang out with the homeless on Wednesdays.

Yesterday, after a busy morning, I headed to the homeless center my mind full of lists, details and things to do and my arms full of three bags of Annalise's cast off clothing (already picked over by Kat and Tracy). As soon as I walked in, Homer, who can speak perfect TexMex/Spanish and English and who is our default stand in translator (and though he swears he does not have the patience to teach anyone Spanish can sit with a terrified Spanish speaker as we talk through options and soon they'll be smiling and relaxing and saying "hey man" just like Homer does cause Homer's just that damn sweet), anyway, Homer announces, really loudly, "you're late!".

It was nice to be missed. Really nice.
There were big smiles all around and lots of "Hi Stacy"s.
Now, that sounds like no big deal, but I love that shit. I absolutely love it and I love the hell out of my friends there.

I met a new guy today, "J", 55, skin and bones and sweet with lots of stories to tell. (I'd actually seen him on my run the night before, he was up on the bridge, with bags and backpack and he looked so thin that I resolved to go back and try to find him after the run, but by then it was late and getting dark and I just didn't do it.) Right after we met, "J" started digging around in his overstuffed wallet and soon enough presented me with a Jamba Juice gift card. He really wanted me to take it. He was very proud of it and for good reason, it had a sweet little flowery design on it and as he said, there was still money on it. (When people ask, I tell them that these little gift cards can be a pretty good choice if you want to give something to the homeless, sure it might be given to someone else, but it's still a nice thing to do.) I told him I couldn't accept it and made him take it back with a promise to try a strawberry-blueberry smoothie for me. After that, we were fast friends and I learned his story, or a good part of it.

"J" was sitting across from "DC" who likes to listen in on conversations. I asked J. how he became homeless and he just shrugged. "DC" piped up, "why do you have to call it 'homeless', can't we think of something nicer, like, 'not in a house'. To that, "S", a 50ish woman, a regular, who talks straight as an arrow, said, "well if you don't have a home, you're home LESS, don't try to pretty it up.' Good point, I thought, but "J" added to it, " you can be anywhere in the world and you still gotta have your heart in the right place, so maybe it don't matter where your home is or what your home is or if you have one or not."

Maybe it doesn't. I don't know. I still want them all to have one.

About that time, the phone rang and I was told there was a surprise caller on the line for me.

Sure enough it was my old pal, Cowboy (mid page), who I met about a year ago, and who called to tell me he was getting married! He wants me to come to the wedding and take pictures, which of course I will do. He's known his fiance 7 months, and said he just knew when he met her that she was "the one". (I guess being in your late 60's helps, with this, goodness knows, I'm not the only person to take years to study on "the one" question, too, heck Cowboy might be in his 70's.) Anyway, he wanted me there because he said I was the first person he met in Austin and he'd never forget me. The day Cowboy came in the center, was the only day I've ever been able to patch enough resources together to get someone homed in a single day. It happened for Cowboy. In just one afternoon, he went from being a transient who just arrived in town to having his own apartment, all thanks to ElderCare folks who went out of their way to help him. Guess he just has the luck of the cowboys, because Cowboy always said the only thing he wanted in life was a good woman, so I'm sure he's happy now.

"A" came in, not looking so good. It wasn't 2 weeks ago that he was doing really well. He had moved into an RV through the House the Homeless program, but now, today, he was dirty, sad and had a nasty spider bite on his hand. He needed a bandaid and I gave him one, along with a stack of alcohol towelettes. Dang it. Maybe he'll be happier camping in the woods than he was in the RV. We aren't all meant for houses or for RVs. Still...I hate it when that happens. We commiserated over how now he wouldn't be able to have me over for dinner.

Next, I saw someone else I hadn't seen in ages. "T" is a big man. He's probably 6 feet tall, weighs I don't know much, just a lot, and African American. More important, he's just as sweet as he can be. "T" has had my back more than once when someone lost their temper in the center and I had to step in between them (I know I shouldn't do that, but I do, I'm probably not scared enough sometimes.) "T" just has to stand up and everyone in the room notices. He asked me to get the checkers which is what we do, we play checkers and he usually forces me to win. He seriously sets his checkers up so I have to jump him, though I try hard not to. (Is it any wonder why I love this guy?) So we talk about his diabetes and his bad foot and his friend who helps him manage money and how funny it is that we only have one checker set and no checker board and we have to make do with a piece of plastic that has squares on it? But, hey, it's checkers, you can pretty much play checkers anywhere.

As I sit, "W" comes up and using mostly hand gestures motions me to the door to show me the bike he just bought, a beautiful white racing bike. "W" used to say nothing to me, he didn't speak a word to me, he has trouble with words. Now, he talks to me because I've learned to wait and let him get to the right words. We looked at the bike, then I went back to finish beating "T" at checkers. By this time, I had all kings and he only had two kings and despite his efforts, I won the race around the board, and he was forced to jump my guys until he ended up the winner. A first.

At that point, Mary breezed in and handed me a postcard. It was addressed to "Stacy, Lionel and Everyone" and was from "D" who moved to Seattle at the beginning of the summer. He was just telling us all that he's doing well and got their safely.

As we started final clean up and goodbyes, "J" came up and gave me a big, warm hug, so did "T". I asked "W". if he and "J" were friends and they both said, yes, but they go their separate ways, too. Then "W" took a long couple of moments and said "we're all friends" and pointing to each of us, "you're my friend and he's my friend and he's my friend, we're friends, all of us."

And, we are.

So, back to the beginning. It seems like Wed. morning I was worried about a lot of stupid things and by mid afternoon, I couldn't remember what I'd been worried about.

Run.
Walk dogs.
Hang with the homeless.

That's the ticket.

looking for bottles, finding more

I can't speak for all of them, but the chronically homeless people I know, I trust. They have a code of honor and ethics that many chronically homed people do not share. I've seen them give their last pair of socks to someone who didn't have any, I've seen them give out bus tickets, change, cigarettes, advice, whatever they might have, to anyone who needs it.

It didn't surprise me a bit when I read about Charles Moore of Detroit. Charles was looking in a trash bin for bottles he could turn in for spare change and found $21K worth of savings bonds. He gathered them up and handed them over to someone who could find the owner. The bond owner's son gave Charles $100 for his honesty, but other people who heard of this thought a larger reward was warranted and gave him more money, clothes, and a job lead. These might not change Charles' life, but I hope that when people hear of his story, they might realize that the homeless are pretty darn generous.

I've found myself embarrassed and chastened by what gracious givers the homeless can be. They give advice, hugs and smiles. And my friend K. used to leave me bottles of chocolate milk and cakes pretty regularly. All of that means so much more when it's coming from someone who doesn't know where their next meal is coming from and who's been sleeping on a concrete slab. Those gifts are given with an unpretentious innocence, a kindness.

There's more. I come home from my Wednesday shift at the shelter with an attitude adjustment, a sense of place in the world and another shot at being thankful for all I've been given in this world. Not only was I born to a decent family who cared about me, made me go to college and kept me fed and dressed. I was also given a large number of second chances and an even larger number of good friends.

I've heard of my homeless friends finding amazing things in dumpsters. Castoffs and trash from those who have too much, or at least more than enough. Unopened jars of peanut butter, clothes, shoes, yarn, fabric, bedding, furniture, metal scraps, money, jewelry, books, magazines. The next time, you're deciding what to do with all your extra stuff, look it over and take it somewhere someone who needs it can find it.

We could start a little mini revolution and just start leaving surprises for the people who are looking for bottles to recycle. Leave a jar of peanut butter and a butter knife by the place you see a homeless person hanging out in your town. Take that pair of shoes that never fit so well to a shelter. Hand one of the homeless people you pass everyday that last good book you read or a soft pillow. At the very least, just look them in the eye, smile and say "hey". They aren't all that different from you, you're just a little luckier.

file under: friends

downtown...

I'm committed to my Wednesdays with the homeless. I'm so damn busy right now, I've got paying work and nonpaying work barking at my heels, I've got a messy house and dogs that need walks and laundry...but I need this, too.

I guess the best form of therapy is being needed, feeling one's place in the world, solidly and surely. Does that mean playing 4 games of Pente while someone tells you their life history? Does that mean having someone holler a hello across the room? Sometimes, it does.
it's the minutiae of life, those little beads of moments, strung together, into something more than they are alone. Today I didn't feel needed as much as I just felt like I was with friends.

Of course, I had to tell everyone I ran 20 miles and they were pretty impressed. My friend D. struggles to stay sober. I told him I thought of him when I ran 20 miles last week. What he's doing is like a marathon, only worse.

I saw F. who doesn't speak too much, he's quiet and keeps to himself. When he tells you Hi, you know he likes you. I had just sat down to game number 1 of pente, when I saw the police cars pull up outside. F had just come in for a cup of coffee, and taken it outside to enjoy with a cigarette. (There are laws against that...you can't stand outside in Austin, or sit outside, without getting a ticket. One guy I know thinks it's an attempt to make the homeless "pay the rich." It's really just a way to make the homeless disappear from downtown.)
When I saw the cops, talking to F. I got mad. I assumed they were going to ticket him.
For someone who believes the government implanted a chip in his brain, F. does pretty damn well in the world. He doesn't cause trouble. He doesn't have friends. He collects papers and he loves numbers and his head is full of facts that he has knitted together like a frayed old sock.
He'd seen the police car's license plate and thought the numbers were the same as someone's birthday who he knew in the Navy who had been responsible for wrecking a ship and all this was somehow related to the Kennedy family and terrorism.
The cops had him cuffed. Frank launched into a tirade. I sent the center director over to talk to them and she convinced them he was harmless. They sent him off with a warning.

When F. came back in he told me what had happened and that the cop car was part of the plot, the chip in his head, the Kennedy's, the terrorism, all of it. F. has no family. He was put into foster care at age 3, so he told me on a good day. He's been in and out of mental hospitals. Funds are tight. He survives. I offered him popcorn and lemonade and he sat down with the rest of us and we had a nice discussion about what we do when the world goes crazy around us.

file under: friends

popcorn tea and discussion

back at trinity last Wednesday.
They all said they missed me last week. Things stay the same, though the machine behind them is constantly in flux. I need to be at peace with that. I'm not part of the machine, I'm there for the folks...and I love hanging out with them.

Wednesday was a day of chance encounters...a young guy starts talking with an old guy who advises him to get it together. Lionel wants to talk about gay marriage and Darrell's favorite cookie is oatmeal raisin (raisins for the iron). My friend Charlie is is running for Lt. Governer, watch for his Burma Shave signs around town. He doesn't have any campaigning funds, but he knows what he wants to do for Texas.
I need to recommit to my Wednesdays here and to the documentary. I want people to meet these folks. I want to continue to be separate from the bureacracy and be with the people, as long as I can do that, I'll come in.

So, we sat with tea and popcorn and talked, but before that, we just sat and talked. That's what I like best, the agenda less discussions, be open to what is there already.

filed under: friends

Joseph

I hadn't seen Joseph in 6 months. I'd shot video of him. We spent a couple of afternoons roaming around downtown taking pictures with my med. format Seagull. Then last summer, the movie, I stopped volunteering at the homeless center on Wednesdays. I came back in August, asked about Joseph. No one had seen him.
I'm more or less back to my regular Wednesday shift now and I've been looking for Joseph since I came back. There was a lot to worry about. His health isn't great. He gets sad and checks out sometimes. He has few resources.
Last Wednesday, I told another volunteer that if he walked through the door it would make my Christmas. Within 20 minutes he did just that.
He's gained weight, which is good. He's still painting, which is very good.
He's okay.

93 souls

Sunday a.m. I woke at 5 a.m. to gear up and head out to shoot the annual Memorial service for the Homeless who died on the streets of Austin last year. There were 93 of them.
I learned that if you die on the streets of Austin, and you are penniless and without a family, you are treated to a burial in the pauper field, in East Austin.
They don't allow type of service, they won't pray over your body, they just bury you, in your custom-sized cardboard box.

It was cold Sunday morning. And, as usual, I tried to go out with just a long sleeved t-shirt and a sweater. I'm a native Texan and it seems to take awhile for me to realize that Fall has arrived. So, I shivered and in my shivering I thought about the people that shiver every night, blanketless, coatless, warm dinner-less. It really wasn't so bad.

As the names of those who died were read, the attendees placed carnations on the Homeless Memorial, trying to make up for the simple quiet burial the city gave them, saying the names of these strangers and friends aloud one last time, remembering they were here with us once.

Alan Graham who runs Mobile Loaves and Fishes and Richard Troxell who runs House the Homeless are two of the leaders in the Austin homeless movement. They are both well educated, nice, gentlemen. They seem egoless, focused on what they see as righting a deep injustice.

Alan said something that kept me thinking long after the memorial. He said that we've lost our sense of community. During the depression, the community took care of each other, they brought people in for dinner, gave them odd jobs, took care of each other. They buried each other according to their religion.

Now, we're mostly well fed and well 401k-d, yet we forget they we are part of a town of people, that we all share a city. We've lost that personal sense of neighbors and community, created a divisiveness between those who live in homes and those who roam.

Many of the homeless are mentally ill and many are disabled. It should embarrass our community that people who are so ill are left out in the cold. We can do better.

a crackdown on sleeping

Sleeping outside is a ticketable offense. So, don't do it. Especially if you're at U.T. (sleep in class, sleep in your dorm, but don't take a nap on the lawn or curl up on a bench in a quiet corner of the auditorium. Of course, most of get 6-8 hours a night in a soft comfy bed, the people getting tickets for sleeping are the ones who grab a few hours of rest here and there on the porches of businesses, in the woods, in the parks, all around town.

Three tickets, unpaid, can turn into jail time. They want to teach you a lesson, and encourage you to sleep elsewhere.

I just found out that one of my more tender hearted homeless friends spent 3 days in jail for sleeping at U.T. Apparently it bothers people to see someone in dirty clothes huddled up against a building and sleeping.

All he wants now is to apologize to the judge for sleeping on campus. He says he'll never do it again. But...where will he sleep exactly?

a Cowboy love story...

Okay, so here's how the story begins...Cowboy is a homeless man, tall, rail thin, a former rodeo guy. His wife and his toddler son died in a car accident when he was in his 20's. It broke his heart into many pieces, and I would guess that it's been broken ever since. Cowboy is almost 70 now and he still cries when he tells the story. Wouldn't you?

Cowboy came into the shelter where I was volunteering back in early spring. He was wearing black boots, black jeans, a black shirt with pearl snaps, a black vest, a black leather jacket and a black hat and he carried, you guessed it, a black bag. He was tired, weathered, at the end of his trick rope.

We moved into the little chapel, no one ever goes in the chapel much, it's quiet and still there and it's small, and the chairs are comfy, it's a good place to talk. Cowboy told me he'd been walking all day, he was homeless, he gets a check, his on disability, he's old, after all. Still, that little check won't even pay for a cheap motel room and even if it did, a cheap motel room is about the loneliest, saddest, dirtiest place in the world. It's a room that carries every sad story it ever saw forever, even thought the floor is swept and the sheets are changed sometimes, the stories stick to the walls like some kind of insect trail.

I called a place I'd heard about, I didn't think they could help, most of the time the places I call are full, or they don't accept certain kinds of people, like cowboys, or they only accept people on Wednesdays at 3 in the morning, or on Fridays at 3 in the afternoon.

You see, the homeless resources are a tricky maze, you think you're close to a solution, an end is in site and you learn that you have to go to the beginning and start over.

Anyway, this time, they had a space, he fit the profile, he was old enough, damaged enough and it was his lucky day. I drove him to his new apartment after we closed the shelter for the day. He couldn't believe his luck, a brick apartment with a little park and hot water and cooking stuff and his own room.

Cowboy was happy that day. Now, it's been six months and Cowboy, like all of us, wants more. He's looking for love again. I suggested he go to Senior dances, he says he has two left feet. Then, I said, "one word, Cowboy,BINGO!" He hated that idea. So, I need help with this one. Where can an up and coming old man find a gal who's got a little cowgirl in her, a girl who likes Nascar and good coffee and tall men?
I'm open to suggestions.

Wednesday

On Wednesdays. I volunteer at the homeless center. I've been doing this since August 04. It is already Spring and I still look forward to Wednesdays. I love Wednesdays.

When I first began working with the homeless, I thought of it as just that, working with them, helping them recover, get better, get their own zipcode, matching sheets sets and steady employment. I wanted tangible results. I wanted to leave behind a group of folks who were in better shape, safer, healthier, cleaner and mentally well.

That hasn't happened. Not to any of them. It's not from lack of trying.

What I've learned is that homelessness is a chronic complex layering of issues, bureaucracy, social institutions, perceptions of what people can expect from each other and health. When one layer is smoothed over and set to rights, another will topple down on it, setting everything off again.

There is nothing harder than sending a 70 year old mentally ill woman back onto the streets when the center closes. There is nothing more frustrating than taking her to the social worker's office where we sit for three hours, until she decides we are all out to get her and she stalks away, defiant.
There is nothing sadder than seeing a man who is about my age, who has week by week slid further into paranoia and deepest sorrow, covered with scratches and sores, shoeless, hungry, tattered, torn, battered and beaten and knowing I can do nothing for him. Nothing.

These are people I've had lengthy conversations with. These are people who trust me, people who I love to see each week. These people matter. These people live in a scary, hungry, lonely version of the world that I wake up to each morning.

Maybe St. Francis, Mother Theresa and Jesus would bring them home. I wonder if the Buddha would, or would Buddha say they were on some difficult soul journey. (I couldn't be a good Buddhist, karma makes me paranoid.)
I won't bring them home to my house. I'm not a Saint, my house is tiny, and I need my time away from their sorrows so I can show up again the next week. But I wonder, would someone take me in if I were homeless? Should they?

Someone told me once that we can't save the world, we can only live compassionately.
Maybe compassion will save the world.
Maybe compassion is enough.
I don't know.

A day in the alley...

I was up last night until 4:30a.m.
I was in that FLOW, (as a groovy seattleite called it once, though I bought the book and never really "got" what FLOW is) anyway, I was in it, editing Rescue Me.
I was putting in changes Nevie suggested and a few more, of course, and then around 4;00 the computer needed time to do some work...so I let it work, churn files, make a movie and I catnapped in my chair...but my foot slipped onto the power button and I turned the computer off, with my toe.

But wait! I recovered everything, got it going, got to bed, with the computer churning and working while I slept.

I went to sleep as the pope was buried. I kept the radio on so I could listen to BBC which I find pretty comforting.

I woke around 10, computer was still churning, only 50% complete... (its a long project)...so I cleaned my house...around 12, I told computer to stop and tried something simpler, got a DVD burning and headed downtown..

I was to meet homeless Joseph, the recovering alcoholic, artist/photographer. We were to spend time with my new medium format camera, taking pictures of folks. We had a great time...a great time. People were happy to have us take their picture, for the most part. And, Joseph knows his F-stops. He's a dear man, I love him to pieces.

He led me down a grassy alley and we took pictures of him amid trash and broken windows, while a large black man snoozed nearby. A police officer wandered up, looking curious. I asked him to please move out of the shot. (someone please tell this story to any grandchildren who might come to my wake many years hence.) He seemed to accept that I was making art, and I didn't offer any explanation. Its my city, too afterall...He did tell us a little about himself. "I just got back from Afghanistan and they are poor there, but they don't beg, not like here". He looked at Joseph as he said "you just need motivation, get right with the man upstairs.." I just said, " well, Afghanistan is a different world, isn't it? " And things like that, but, inside I was seething .
Copper left and Joseph said that was the nicest a cop had ever been to him. The cop didn't even make the sleeping black man wake up.
He led me in backdoor of the Salvation army a - an odd place, dark, turquoise walls, people seem comatose...Until we set up a shot with Joseph on some stairs coming down.
An officious man said, "You can't sit on the stairs". Joseph said, "We're just taking a picture." The man checked us out (I'm wearing my fave ratty jeans and a t-shirt.) and says,"well, if you dawdle, its a $500 fine, this is a fire hazard issue. "We'll be quick." Then the man asks if I have a release to shoot in there ..., no I don't...geez...we left.
I told Joseph, that place is way too turquoise to be that snooty.

So, we came out the side door, right into the famous crack alley, but in midday it is just full of sweet, chubby homeless people, mostly men, nice enough. I took more pictures of them, their tattoos, their faces.
I don't know if the pictures will come out, or not. I hope some do.

I love getting used to a whole new camera, allowing myself to just play a bit.

I came home and found the computer still churning a DVD...so I told it to stop again and built it a less high quality way. At 5:38 I drove to the downtown post office, through horrendous traffic, to get the package postmarked in time to for today's post date. I'm not a woman who loves clocks and calendars, but I'm damn good at making deadlines.
I barely made it, but made it, I did.


Taking pictures with Joseph was fun. I'm glad, that despite the wackyness of technology, that I did get out and used the old fashioned manual camera and take such delight in it.

It seems to me to be a triumph of the analog over the digital, the primitive over the technical.
The brilliant machine disappoints, the your abacus delivers.
All I know is, it was one of the finest Fridays I've spent in a long time.
The days that make life, a bit livelier. Even in my early 40's I can still get thrown out of places, mingle with the dark side and try new things. For that, I give Thanks!

Jerry passed his test!

Jerry passed his driving test with a 100!

teaching jerry to drive

for the past two days, i've been teaching Jerry how to drive. A native of the Phillipines, Jerry volunteers at the homeless center, every day that it is open. Jerry is a wonderful guy, energetic, loving, patient. he's not such a good driver, but it's coming along.
We got smooth turns down, then went on to when to yield and when to stop. He can parallel park with the best of us.

I'm not sure how this came about, but come about it did. Now, I find I'm terrifically concerned about Jerry getting his license. Though tonight when we drove to the bus station, there were moments of sheer terror. I told him he's getting it and tomorrow he'll take his test.
He told me to pray for him and his driving.

homeless art and homeless camps

Today, Richard and I did some shooting in one of the cities homeless encampments. Beth told us her story and how she went from middle class mom to homeless camper.
Her place is pretty wonderful. A tent in the woods, a cat, some friendly racoons. She has a boyfriend, she's the only woman in camp, sort of the sage herbalist, the calm balanced one.

Later we picked up Joseph and went to the gallery where he sells his art. The owner, who is an angel, has supported Joseph's art since the late 90's. She has one son, who at 4 years old, was partiallly paralyzed by a drunk driver. The driver was his Dad. Her son is curently in ICU, struggling with a brain disease he picked up on one of his hospital visits. She said, "it's all up to God now." I admired her manner, her peace, her dedication to her mission to end drunk driving, her work with MADD and SADD and her overwhelming devotion to her son. Her gallery is beautiful.

Joseph, of course, loved showing us his work.

If I ever, even for a moment, think I'm not blessed, I will remember days like this.

Chips in your head

If the government planted a chip in your head, you would find it impossible to ever trust anyone who has any connection to the government ever again.
You might pick up papers , looking for codes in letters and numbers.
Your family would become distant, unable to understand you and eventually, they might even just forget about you.
People would laugh at you behind your back.
All you'd think about would be the chip.

at least, that's what Tony says...

Rest In Peace

I learned the person who jumped down on to the labryinth died in the hospital.

released...

I just called the hospital. Andy was released at 19:10. So, no warm bed tonight for him after all.
Got out too late to get in a shelter, so tonight he'll sleep outside as the cold front moves in.
Damn.

We did what we could, I guess.

If wheezing, Parkinsons and fatigue can't get a guy one night in a hospital so he can get a little stonger...

Perilous days...Mythic journeys

Last night, the events of the week, the deadline I missed, the strained series of days, caught up with me. I couldn't sleep, I was focused on preparing for "the future". Things like cleaning my house, washing my dogs, making final edits, preparing for out of town guests, yet another looming deadline or two...

It seems it was a hard night for a few other folks too.

Early early this morning, someone tried to kill himself by jumping from the top floor of the St. David's Episcopal church parking lot onto the labyrinth below. He jumped from a distance of about 100 feet and the guy wires caught him, held him for a bit until he fell another 10 feet, to land in the middle of the labyrinth.

I imagine looking from the top floor of the parking garage, death by labyrinth seemed like a romantic idea. Falling into the middle of the mythic journey and all. Still, I couldn't help but feel like the labyrinth did just as myth foretells. It leads, they say, to a new path, a new view on the world, a place you didn't expect. This was indeed where the jumping person landed.

Later at Trinity Center, things continued in their rickety, perilous way. It was quiet. When things are quiet at the homeless center, you can bet something big is brewing, something that will require some fortitude. I hate it when I'm right.

Andy came in (not his real name of course). He's tiny, has Parkinsons, few teeth, only possessions are a coat, a blanket and a big heart. He didn't look good. I made him some oatmeal, two servings, found him a power bar, he'd already eaten the standard issue breakfast, boiled egg, cheese stick and a pear.

Andy ate , then he slept, and slept and slept. He wheezed. His chest rattled.

I thought about calling EMS, I called Adult Protective Services, the adult version of CPS. They had me fill out a form online. I called the social worker at the ARCH who told me to get him to the clinic when it opens at 1.
I woke Andy up and told him we were going there, he said okay and went right back to sleep.

For most of his life, Andy has had his brother, also tiny, and slightly disabled, and currently in jail for stealing a computer. ( I don't think either of these men could lift a computer, not possible, but without a lawyer....) So Andy's been alone. Mental illness, physical disability, loneliness, it's gotta be hard for a guy to keep his attitude up, but Andy mostly can do that.

Today, Andy just slept. I roused him at 12:45 and we walked down the hill to the ARCH. After an hour in the waiting room, he saw the Dr. She is a gentle, Indian woman, with a warm, smooth manner. The Dr. sent him to the E.R. for tests and labwork, but before he left she introduced Andy to the social worker who he'll meet with when he gets out.

So, tonight, instead of the cold sidewalk, or a downtown parking garage, Andy gets to sleep in a warm hospital room.

Maybe like the guy who jumped onto the labyrinth, Andy gets to start on a new journey tomorrow too.

"documentaries take a long time"

That's a quote by my friend and film partner, Kat Candler.

It's true. It's also true that it's still frustrating. You want it to be finished, you want completion, the final stroke of the pen, the wave of a baton, but in the world of digital ones and zeroes, things can change, change and change again.
Then there's dogs, kids, neighbors, work, the homeless and all the myriad distractions. Much conspires against any one having a full day of silent, quiet work. Life.

It's a new year and I have been working on resolutions.
1. Practice being patient in traffic. I have been sorely tested on this more than once. Just today a giant green dragon of an SUV pulled right in front of me, no signal, no warning...just a big fat car with bad manners. I made an indecent finger gesture at the driver, a pony tailed, teen. I need more practice.
2. Stop using "gay" as a description. I do this withough thinking..."you know, the tall guy, he's cute, sweet, great hair, gay and..." or, "no, he's the gay guy who works at the.." This is a personal peeve of mine, one I just decided is a peeve and I think it needs to be stopped, at least by me.


Today was homeless day. I volunteered at the center. It was busy, so many needs for advocacy, prescriptions, housing, and food. We were low on sack lunches, so I winged it. I made pb&j and cheese sandwiches with not quite a loaf of bread, tossed on some carrots and some chips and we all ate together. I like it when that happens. It's more of a fellowship, like a club meeting.

Juan didn't make it in. He's about to lose his place with a roommate and has to secure a new place to live. He has MS, and it will be awhile before his SS kicks in. It's already been a year, he expects it to take another one. At one time, he worked, had a house and a 401K, the illness took all that. Now, he waits for disability funding. R. stopped in. He's finally close to getting a house. He has Parkinson's. Not a good thing for someone who lives on the streets. He's a dear soul. Says he loves me with his whole heart. He is so grateful for the tiny bit I did for him, which was simply to be his advocate.

If just a tiny bit of the funds spent on the inauguration went to provide a little low income housing...how different the world would be for so many. 40 million bucks for a coronation, a coronation for someone who has always "had".

J. didn't show, for our interview session, but that's okay. Stuff happens, more happens when you're homeless. Buses are late, people are mean, etc. Je. did show and I planned to shoot him instead, but after waiting for 2 hours, he forgot and left.

Next week I'll try again.

On my way home, I fed the homless cats. Amy, a fluffy tabby was waiting for me. She is the only feral cat I've ever met who loves to be stroked. She asks for it, lifting up her tail so I'll scratch her at the base of her tail. She even purrs. Maybe she used to be someone's cat, maybe she just decided that people are at their best in small doses. I think it's pretty wonderful that she likes people at all. Even a feral cat can be forgiving.


The number of Tsunami victims went up 70K today. Tomorrow we'll have an offical four more years of Bush.

As my grandmother would say, things are always darkest before the dawn. It can only get better.

wolves and lambs, mostly lambs

it's shameful, wrong and sad, but mostly shameful that so many of the homeless are mentally ill. This week brought it home.
We close at 2:00. By 3:00 we are often still open, cleaning, talking, wrapping things up. On Wed. at 3:00 I was trying to figure out what to do about C. and G.

C, 21, is a brilliant pianiist. I know because she plays at the center a lot. She doesn't know how she knows how to play. She just plays. She doesn't know where her family is or their names. On some days she isn't sure of her own name. I'm not a clinician, not skilled in psychology, but if I had to guess I would guess schizophrenia. She is tiny, carries her stuff, bags and bags of stuff around downtown Austin.

G is convinced that if he blinks his eyes the world will end, unless he wills it not to end. He remains still because if he moves, the movements he makes today could kill someone tomorrow. He seems nice enough, but he might be dangerous, to himself, to others.

My hands are tied. The police can do nothing for these two, and others who struggle with similar issues, unless they hurt somenone. Mental health facilities are full and you can check yourself out and have no money for meds and be lost once again in the dark space of your own mind. It takes a year to get to the top of the SSI list and receive Soc. Sec.

I sent them both off with peanuts, applesauce, crackers, wishing I had instead a few psychologists and a room in a beautiful park-like sanctuary for them.

I don't believe we can save the homeless. I don't know if the Universe, God or the Saints are looking out for C and G (and many like them). I know the poor will always be with us.

The question is how do we fill the gaps so the mentally ill get the care they need? Can we call our society compasionate, or even civil, while this continues?

Voting and the homeless

I am always full of stories after a day at the homeless center -

J. came in the afternoon. He waved some papers at me. While J. was stuck in San Antonio for a few weeks, his voter registration form was deemed "incomplete". He showed me a complete set of IDs and said he couldn't understand what else he needed. I called voter Reg. office and we learned that the deputy who helped J. fill out his form made an error. So, J. can't vote. He worries his heart trouble may keep him from voting for Pres. in 08.
He said he was gonna study up on it and vote for the best man running. So if you think your vote doesn't count this November, think of J. He wanted to vote, he can't. Vote for him.

Brand new week

I love Mondays and mornings cause you get to start over.

Last week I had all 33 staples removed, I look a bit like Franken-arm, but that's okay. I get a lot of people telling me 'God Bless You' and I figure that just can't hurt.
I also started medication for this darn nerve pain. It takes a week to start working, so by Wednesday, I'll be pain free (crossing fingers.)

I also went back to my Wednesday shift at the homeless center where they treated me like the returning princess. I love working there. It brings life back to the essentials.
I would like all of the gentle souls I meet there to be given warm cozy homes with handmade quilts and nutritious food, and supportive families and good dogs.
I'll settle for a national health care system and a safe, clean, loving dorm-style shelter where they can get the help they need to restore their lives.
So many of the homeless are disabled mentally or physically and it's heartbreaking to watch them go back out on the street when we close our doors. I'll talk more about them in future posts.

Kat and Lorie are back with NYC stories. I may have to make up a story of my own...hmmmmm